


Trenchcoat

by glamorouspixels



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Cookies, F/M, Flirting, Fluff, Friendship, Poor Jack, Thunderstorms, Wet Clothing, also slight nudity i guess, late season 1 i'd say, late-night snacking at the station, phrack being adorable
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-17
Updated: 2020-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:55:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23188117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glamorouspixels/pseuds/glamorouspixels
Summary: What if Phryne is seen in Jack's office, wearing his coat and nothing else?
Relationships: Phryne Fisher/Jack Robinson
Comments: 12
Kudos: 96





	Trenchcoat

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SuzieQ27](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuzieQ27/gifts).



> The original prompt by SuzieQ27 was this: _What if Phryne is seen wearing Jack's trench coat ( & nothing else) leaving Jack's office (before Phrack)?_ This isn't exactly that, but we have Phryne in nothing but Jack's coat inside his office, with Hugh as a witness. And it's pre-Phrack. I hope it counts!
> 
> And thank you to acrazyobsession for beta reading! <3

Rain flowed solidly down the windows, a rhythmic stream so heavy the droplets merged into a wall. Obscured behind it sat Jack at his desk, if one were to see inside the station through the midnight haze. All was silent but the rain, with nothing to do but wallow in the stormy night and pour himself into the steady worlds of ink and paper. It was a dependable comfort, made all the more pleasant by the thunder that raged outside. That was, at least, until the shape of Phryne cut through the shadows. Making up for the calm she lacked in fast conviction, she charged ever closer toward the washed-out building.

Upon arrival, the two were soon to collide in the darkened front area, which was exposed to the rain and thunder that flooded in through the open door. It startled into motion a relaxed Jack, who warred briefly with distress and equal resignation at the thought of intrusion. All hope for a quiet night crushed and a well-read volume set aside with a care its ordinary binding didn’t warrant, he remembered himself and shot from his chair, out through his own door and into the dark.

Phryne was illuminated absurdly from behind by the lightning that grasped at her contours but left the middle unusually dark, and then that as well was gone. Beads of rain formed a river at her feet as she was neither in nor out, frozen when met with the wall of familiarity and warmth that always came with appearing at the station. But never had it shocked her as it did with a downpour at her back.

Perhaps not shocked as she, but certainly irritated, Jack raked over her for any injury and, when he found none, shot her a glance that asked what she was thinking, standing in the open door and leaving the weather to rage in her wake. She wasn’t thinking, obviously, but it was that look that snapped her out of it so it was only him standing stiffly and gaping.

“Evening, Jack,” she greeted him airily, the room brightened by her breathless smile.

Phryne shut the door and barged fully in and past him, pulling her cloche off her head and dumping it on the wooden counter, where it landed wetly with a smack. Huffing, she wrinkled her nose at the item of clothing of a dark, intense purple, looking as though it and the rain had wronged her personally. Only then did his awestruck presence seem to register, the same moment that he woke from his daze.

“Miss Fisher? What are you doing here?”

The theory was soon dismissed of her being a figment of his tired mind – Jack was fairly certain he hadn't fallen asleep, and the wetness seeping through the sturdy wood of the counter seemed altogether real, as did the way she pulled daintily at her dampened coat – his mind combed through his options, finding precious little that might help. What was one to do when one’s colleague, the relationship dancing precariously on the edge of  _ more _ , came barging in completely soaked, at midnight, no less, and began to disrobe in plain sight?

“Oh,” Phryne waved a dismissive hand, shooting his question right back at him with full force, “I was just in the area when all hell broke loose. I thought the sky was coming down around me!”

Had he been any less perplexed, he might have been amused by her spreading wide her hands at the ceiling and the storm swirling beyond, ignoring briefly the buttons she’d been working.

Jack noticed that her lipstick, not quite as dark as her hat but the same berry shade, appeared slightly faded around the edges, which was particularly apparent for its usual sharpness. Her attire, just a notch out of place as though questing hands had twisted her collar and the hem of her blouse, aimed for breezy but was slightly more prepared. The fabric was thin and adorned with edges of lace.

And her eyes – how long had she been watching him, studying his calculating gaze?

“Would you like to invite me in?” Her voice had all of its customary brightness, but a hint of sternness lay underneath. “Unless of course you’d rather I leave.” As if summoned on cue, loud thunder follows her words and she blinked at him, once, rapidly. Jack wondered how it was that she looked genuinely curious while she held his gaze.

In his rather compromising state of amazement, the crashing rain proved exceptionally loud as it taunted him. But it came as no surprise that even the forces of nature would bend to her command, scrambling to right their offense in disturbing her stride upon the world. Hell, it stood to reason that she’d summoned the rain to torment him, if only for the pleasure of seeing him falter as she undid her clothes, all the while pinning him with a stare that might have well been deadly.

“No–no, I’ll go and...find you some towels.” Weighing the words on his tongue, Jack felt glaringly the loss of his footing as if she’d restyled the rotation of the earth. And perhaps she had, only that the axis altered, as so often, extended only as far as his own world and her place within it. He withdrew from her in suspicious strides, waiting to turn his back until the very last moment as though she might pounce and charge at him if he did – or worse, pester him with the telltale sound of clothing dropped.

“No need for such hurry,” muttered Phryne under her breath when he did, at last, retreat, arms folded around her own coat-clad figure in a futile attempt for warmth. As Jack turned, he did so with striking awareness of the ends of her hair sticking wetly to her face, the harsh frost undeniably making a home of her bones.

Jack started his search in the basement gymnasium, spooking around attuned to any noise that might sound above, but any commotion would have gone unheard the further he crept along the darkened hallway. What he stumbled upon was a sorry stack, the fabric clean but its shade no longer a crisp white. Another look around yielded no effects; he ascended the steps as he might those to his demise.

And indeed, to find her wet coat flung across the counter alarmed him greatly, as did the trail of raindrops that led to his office. Not only did he dread what awaited him there, but what of his things, his neatly arranged case files? Before he could contemplate further what she might find – the photographs from the Green Mill case tucked away in his drawer he brushed swiftly off the edge of his mind – he burst into the room and walked in on Phryne undressed in a way he’d never seen her. 

It wasn’t the most uncovered she’d presented herself; that crown still went to that fateful night he’d saved her at the Turkish bathhouse. But seeing her lingerie out on display, a beautiful light purple, and incredibly  _ wet _ at that, seemed infinitely more intimate; it marked the first time in her presence Jack had ever felt overdressed, if only as an impulse to spare her the humiliation he knew she didn’t feel.

It was then that he found he had been staring, standing rigidly and holding the fluffy pile of towels before him as if presenting to her a divine gift. Phryne glanced only briefly in his general direction, her own hands occupied by the soaked-through shirt she’d just removed, which she contemplated in utter disdain.

“Another perfectly lovely blouse gone to waste,” she complained, presenting it with two fingers, then folding it atop his office chair as he continued to just stand there, perplexed. That she was walking toward him did nothing to ease his stance. Her attire was in many parts a sheer, dark lace, the remainder being of no more use in providing cover than these select panels, given that the woman it clung to was dripping from head to toe. It made the outline of her small breasts known and the shadow between her legs clearly visible.

Before he knew it, she was crowding his space and seemed expectant for his hands to surrender the offering. Instead of falling on the billowing lace that cascaded from below her breasts and over her belly, his eyes fought to stay strictly on hers.

“Thank you,” came her low and sultry voice, a caress as though she’d trailed a single finger down to the base of his spine, so at odds with the blue of her eyes softening to black under a curtain of sweeping eyelashes.

Jack nodded once, slowly, then promised, “I’ll be right outside if you need me,” already turning over in his mind all the ways she might abuse his offer as soon as the words had left his mouth.

And indeed: “I’ll be sure to keep that in mind,” she practically purred. Phryne drew so near he could have sworn their lips touched upon sensing on his own the warm pressure of her breath. Then his attention was dragged to the towels he had not yet released, and her hands stroking lightly their material, which Jack handed over as if he’d been struck.

Catching the smug smile she threw him over her shoulder, Jack took the long-awaited step backward into the safety of the hall, where, hands clasped behind his neck, he paced the outskirts of the shadows and decidedly didn’t ponder how the dampness of the silk had highlighted Phryne’s delicate figure, no doubt to her utter delight.

When she hadn’t made an appearance after what felt like hours had passed and no noise sounded from the closed-off room, he went once more into the basement, making a task of finding fresh garments for her to wear. Naturally, he was brought right back to her ruined underthings, sheer and by now most definitely lying somewhere he had previously touched.

Not caring about his selection, Jack grabbed something off the nearest clean pile and, as he crossed back into the light overhead, gave no thought to Phryne’s wandering his office in the nude. Obviously. Once there, he stood and listened, then thought twice of his approach with his hand already lifted to knock.

“Miss Fisher? Can I come in?” 

“Always, Inspector.” And how was it that in all the time he’d known Phryne Fisher, he had never once banged his head against the door, sighing and at last admitting sweet defeat? Never had the prospect been more delicious, and at least now there was the fabric he carried to soften the blow. “But I’m all covered up if that’s what you’re asking.”

He almost didn’t want to look, throwing wide the office door to face whatever troubles lay within. Would she be sprawled across his table, the towel a flimsy barrier underneath? Or sat in his chair as if all was well, only dressed, this time, in nothing but her very own creamy skin? But no; one of the towels fell to just above her knees, its ends locked in a tight embrace at the swell of her breasts. Another, smaller cloth she used to massage the moisture from the strands of her hair, the flexing muscles of her arms lit softly by his lamp.

What should have scared him, really, was the look of unmasked terror the pile in his hands induced in Phryne. Had he not gained reason to fear for his life, Jack might have deemed it terribly amusing. “Jaaack! You don’t seriously want me to wear  _ that _ !?”

“What did you expect? I should have warned you – we’re all out of silk blouses and...lace underwear at the minute.” Between her huff and the pointed glare she sent his way, Jack thought he’d sooner die than be rid of the picture she made, all smooth skin and arresting make-up just a tad more theatrical than her usual style.

“Well, I don’t know,” she began, assaulting the knot of her towel in unison with her fired words, “but I’m  _ cold _ , Jack! You leave me no choice but to-”

“No, don’t-”

As she met his gaze in defiance, all that was holding his world together were her slender fingers woven around the fabric’s seam. Jack backed down at a careful pace, not sure what to make of her as was so often the case, a compelling constant throughout their ever-changing partnership.

“I’ve got an idea,” said Jack, suddenly courageous; although he saw no choice but to steal another hidden glance back in order to assure that the towel was kept in place. Only then did he turn on her and make for the coat rack behind his desk. A solution far from impeccable, but worlds better than being taunted by her laid-out skin. Or so he thought until he watched Phryne don the garment and let fall with little pretense the towel she’d worn underneath, leaving him stunned beyond words, but upon further consideration, not in the least surprised.

Slivers of skin continued to mock him, swiftly breaching Jack’s line of sight as she secured the buttons much slower precision than he would deem necessary. And rather sparsely at that, from between her breasts to her upper thighs so her collarbones, much of the impossibly soft-looking skin underneath, and her graceful legs were on open display.

Phryne went to perch on the edge of his desk, long legs dangling as she regarded him; her eyes half-lidded, curious. “You don’t happen to have something to eat around here? I’m starving.”

“I do, actually. I was in the process of fixing my dinner when you barged in.” They shared a brief, private smile before Phryne made a careful study of the crowded space beside her, obscured in part by the long ends of Jack’s coat, so far the definition of loyal but for the first time betraying its owner as it separated around her as if enchanted.

“Yes,” she said absently, “I see you’ve kept rather busy.” In the moment it took him to avert his gaze and  _ focus, damn it _ , she had begun to skim the open pages of the volume he’d dropped, facedown, to the surface of his desk when receiving her. She also made a point of ignoring the open tin of biscuits sat to her right.

“In need of a late-night supper, are we, Miss Fisher?” Jack asked.

What else was there to do but sit back in his chair and indulge her, perhaps hope against hope that she wouldn’t encase him with her legs the instant he lowered himself to its surface? He felt as if the chair, too, had deceived him, had arranged itself precisely to her will. But one more card was his to play.

“Must have been quite a date.”

To her credit, her surprise was for the most part hidden and her expression soon schooled into appropriate disdain when she deemed it pointless to deny the obvious truth. “Well, it’s not my fault that man was more concerned about  _ weeping _ on me over his former lover than cherishing what was right in front of him!”

He had just seized a biscuit from the box she was still decidedly not seeing – but eyeing shamelessly from the corner of her eye – and earned a look of exasperation as he was perilously close to choking on laughter and a few wayward crumbs.

But: “No,” he conceded finally, and the metal tin he’d pushed in her direction seemed to appear out of thin air in her line of sight. 

“And you cannot deny I’m a marvelous catch, Inspector,” announced Phryne around a chunk of biscuit, which, miraculously, did not diminish her point, although he’d never grant her the satisfaction of telling her so.

“I fear, Miss Fisher, that I have yet to gather the necessary evidence to support such a claim.”

“Quite right,” she admitted with a smirk that rather poorly concealed her delight. “But you're getting ever closer to uncovering the truth.” Slim fingers ghosting around the open collar of his coat gave prominence to her words, an elaborate show of caressing the fabric as if it were the man at most times found underneath. Jack blinked once, twice, feeling at last the trouble of his front-row seat and lunging for the next best distraction.

“Sandwich?” There was no denying that her stunned expression satisfied him greatly as he procured the fully arranged plate, pleased to reveal that he had indeed prepared for dinner. “I’m no Mr. Butler, but there isn't much else I can offer at this hour.”

“No roast chicken and hand-picked vegetables?” Phryne shot him a look, then added, more earnestly: “Thank you.”

Jack found that watching her eat, made even more entertaining by the occasional hum of appreciation and little crumbs gathering on his coat, was preferable but by no means easier to handle than her earlier display.

“Say, how do you want to spend the night?” He mused, his eyes darting pointedly around the half-dark office, discounting her own little choke at his phrasing, to her ears skimming the line of delightfully indelicate. Outside, the storm roared on, but had faded into soundlessness in the face of such engaging company. It was as if even his office had grown more welcoming, the air swirling with loving light.

“A game of draughts, Miss Fisher?” Jack proposed, his tone gentle; and for once, he was utterly grateful for all that he kept stored away at the bottom of his desk drawer. 

***

“We hadn’t even made it to the restaurant when I saw the tears forming in his eyes, even  _ tasted  _ them on his kisses. Thankfully, he left for the powder room to clean himself up. I just barely made my escape!” 

Smiling, savoring the pleasant warmth that had come to rest in his chest, Jack looked up from her fingers dancing over the board with speed. Phryne’s skin glowed a soft gold in the lamplight, her hair, now drying, curled in slight, imperfect waves around her face. She had just stolen from his box another biscuit; not for the first time that night, Jack noticed the lipstick almost vanished from her now smiling mouth.

“And good thing you did – although, I wonder what the former lover did to that poor fellow to warrant such an outburst. And I certainly hope his fit of temper has caused no lasting damage to your good silk.” Willing into his expression a pretended calm, he made a nod towards the garment, carefully arranged but for certain worse for wear by virtue of the double assault.

His heart soared at Phryne’s little smile. Letting his eyes brush her body a moment too long, Jack asked himself when it was that he’d grown used to her tender posture, her legs, on the table, curled loosely to the side. His eyes flickered only briefly to the shadow between her breasts. Perhaps it did have merit, seeing her wrapped in his worn, trusted coat. 

If she’d caught him staring, she didn’t show it, instead turned at the noise that sounded in the hall. First unmistakable stumbling, followed by a reluctant knock.

Looking past Phryne, who then proceeded to twist fully in the direction of the door, Jack mirrored her smile before addressing their intruder, too briefly for him to see. “Yes, Constable?”

“I thought I’d...heard a noise...sir,” stuttered Hugh in between sucked-in breaths. Had it not been for the recent months of preparation, Jack knew his constable wouldn’t have believed his eyes for the sight they made, basking utterly relaxed, in the warmth and light that stood between them. Now, he had seen enough to attempt to imitate Jack’s own neutral look, difficult as it must have been as he was now in shirtsleeves and waistcoat, not to speak of Phryne’s skin in parts bare and painted beautifully by the soft light.

“I can assure you that nothing is amiss,” Jack said, quiet authority woven so clearly through his voice he didn’t need to see Phryne’s eyes to know their sparkle. “Go back to the cells, won’t you? I can handle things up here.”

Another breath passed as Hugh’s eyes jumped between the pair; it was plain that he faltered, but he didn’t dare defy his superior’s command, which rang sharply in his assured tone and gaze.

“Of–of course. Good night, sir. Miss Fisher.” 

Jack could barely contain his laughter in hearing the sound of the softest chewing. He cast a swift glance to his side, where the woman in question was munching quietly a piece of biscuit. A picture of perfect innocence, Phryne curiously studied Hugh, who appeared positively disturbed by the scene he’d witnessed as he closed the door quickly behind himself.

**Author's Note:**

> I challenged myself to write something short and this is the result; I hope it's okay! I have something else ready to post that accidentally ended up at...over twelve thousand words. So I thought this was desperately needed as I was trying to prove to myself not everything had to be super long. Thank you for reading! <3


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